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[WRHG Tournament] : An ill-concieved notion

Spoiler for :

Show

The setting was a stage. Thousands of people gathered around in velvet seats, eyeing at the centre with anticipation. At first there was silence, then the loud sound of a switch that gave way to a single spotlight on the platform. One lone figure dressed in a ironed tuxedo stepped in, spreading his arms magnanimously.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our generosity and your contribution has paved the way for something greater. For all of you who have been waiting...no more!”

Held breath, as if pausing for effect.

“The Tournament has arrived!”

Cheers. Applause. The man closed his eyes, feeling the excitement that emanated from the crowd as they burst into a fanfare at his words. He felt as if he had all the power in the world, as if...as if…

And abruptly, the cheers stopped. He gestured with his hands, as if the cheers may come back if he did. Eventually the gesturing escalated to a flailing of his wrists, and when that did not work, he finally gave up with a deliberate sigh. Shoulders drooping and back hunched, he turned behind him and opened his eyes.

“You ruin the moment, Seventeen.”

There was no longer the widespread audience. Or the spotlights. The polished wood platform he was once on was replaced with a carpeted floor, and he faced another man taller than he was, adorned in a grey suit.

“You play too much, Thirteen,” the taller man drawled.

“Please, call me Lucy.”

“Lucifer.”

“Lucy.”

“Lucifer.”

Silence, before Thirteen threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

“Oh, I suppose if you insist, you can just call me Thirteen, you uncivilised barbarian,” he prodded the other in the chest, “you are one of the worst kinds of people, the ones who insist on calling their mothers by their maiden name!”

Seventeen ignored the remark, “we are scheduled to begin at the sixth hour tomorrow. The candidates have to arrive by midnight.”

“And I’ve arranged that long before,” Thirteen seethed, “I am practicing my chords of steel, Seventeen. You know what the audience wishes to hear don’t you? The strong commanding tone of a host in charge! Not your high pitched disappointment of a soprano.”

“I interpret that as polishing your ego.”

“That can work, yes,” Thirteen ran a hand down his face, “now begone with you, I have my own work.”

In spite of the other’s drama, Seventeen remained stoic and deadpan.

“So long as you do your work, and keep the goblet working.”

Thirteen turned back, to the wide, thick pane of glass that saw into a concrete dome, nondescript save for the single artifact that stood in the middle. A goblet of unknown metal. Plain, yet emanating a feeling that it was not of this world.

“You know what I wish I could do with it some day?”

Seventeen sighed, but humored the question, “what would that be?”

“Use it to hold my mouthwash.”

A tense silence, as Thirteen waited for the undoubtedly dramatic response. There came a beat, then two, and when he could no longer wait, he finally spun back around to question his colleague about the lack of witty reply, only to have his own question answered.

He was the only one left in the room.

Someone had to take on the mantle of the next tournament. There was an audience to entertain, and money to keep rolling. What began as an ill conceived idea between a few drunken hosts was now possibly seeing itself realised...to the detriment of all involved.

This is a classic tournament that focuses on story and characterisation (or at least I hope it will), including old fashioned brackets, voting, thoroughly unfair judging on my part, some twists to the normal battle, and cheese. It would be best that this tournament may serve as a stepping stone for characters to further flesh out themselves, and so I will heavily focus on the two aspects (story/characterisation) of your writing.

Entry requirements:

A pm to me on your character’s page, abilities (one line only), motivations (of fighting, being in the wrhg and so on) and their personality. Try to be as clear and concise; this pm is important.

Think of an event that greatly shaped your character the way they were. Now include a dwarf named Urist that was their friend and write about it. End the event abruptly with something happening to poor Urist. Minimum 400 words, try to keep it around 1000. Post that in this thread.

A post stating your intent to join beforehand is not necessary, but appreciated.

I will give two weeks for the entry, 30th of December, at midnight. Follow your own clock because I’m lazy with timezones. Anyone posting past that and before the first round is created will not be guaranteed a place. Round information will be posted as they come. If there are any questions, post in the thread and I shall answer them as far as possible.

wRHG, Setto, stands for Writen Rock Hard Gladiators. It is in the style of the regular RHG but instead of fighting with animations, it is fought with writing. How, exactly you'd be better off looking at the wRHG Battles section. If you are, in fact, interested in trying it, then you'd have to first create a character page following these rules.

Well, the concept is of the same nature as the regular RHG. This here is just a tournament around the that notion.
If you don't intend to join, then please refrain from going off-topic.
As for the chocolate: reading my signature is answer enough c:

There was smoke and heat everywhere. The entire forest was ablaze with angry red and yellow light, weaving and stabbing at the air. Fire. It was all over the place. Venox huddled under a burning tree, petrified with fright. This was his worst nightmare! There were dragons everywhere and every one of them wanted to get him! The coward’s wings tightened around him, and he tucked his sweating head into them, whimpering. He had nowhere to go. The entire forest was surrounded.

He had been observing small dragons hatching in a nest this morning, and their mother came back from the wrong direction…his direction. She had her husband with her, and a juvenile of about 20 years he would guess. Upon seeing him looking at their eggs, they must have figured he was some sort of threat, and now all were after him. As if three weren’t bad enough, about five older ones appeared during the mayhem.

Venox began to cry. This wasn’t the death he’d imagined himself having. He wanted to go home! He wanted to die among his Darkwings, not on some cursed dragon-infested alien world! He looked up at the sky, and all of a sudden, a six-winged form glittered before him. He gasped, and the being disappeared, but he’d recognized its face. Seraph.

He broke off crying again, burying his hot face in his wings. Even Seraph had forsaken him. This was almost too much to bear. Who would help him now? He couldn’t summon his Darkwings, or the dragons would find him for sure. Head spinning, Venox began to feel queasy, and pressed himself against his tree, spreading his wings into the darkest parts of it. At least he had his color. This charred tree was black enough to hide him, as long as he closed his eyes. But what if a burning branch or spark fell on him? He’d never see it coming until it was too late.

Venox looked again at his burning surroundings, and a wild fear leaped into his eyes. His breathing quickened, and his heart rate shot through the roof. He could feel a scream building up inside, and it was going to force itself out no matter what. Venox opened his mouth.

A rough, stumpy-fingered hand clamped securely over his mouth, and Venox froze instantly. The hand tasted like ashen wood, and smelled vaguely of human. The coward struggled, and felt a furry tickle by his shoulder. It was a beard. He was being held by a short human. For a moment, Venox just stared in shock. Humans could get this short? He’d never imagined that before. The human released him, put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and peered around their tree.

The human was wrapped in thin ragged cloth skin, and had a round belly, ash-smeared hands, and a greyish beard that dangled almost to his waist. Any exposed skin he had looked as weathered as tree bark, and his wizened face was full of determination and kindness. Venox studied his reflection in the creature’s blue eyes, and it cocked its head at him.

“What kind of animal are you?” he whispered, flecks of saliva spraying out from between his broken grin. “Not a dragon to be sure.”

Venox stared at the hand, hesitating for a moment, and then he shook it a little.

“Y-you’re a…h-human?” he asked, and then both pressed close to their tree as a dragon shot by.

“Close laddie,” the creature whispered back with a quiet chuckle. “I’m a dwarf. Love gems more than humans love themselves.”

Venox cocked his head, and his guard went down instantly. Somehow he knew this dwarf-thing wouldn’t betray him, not now, not ever. He smiled at Urist, and then looked fearfully at the sky.

“How do we g-get past them?”

Urist turned toward the base of the tree they were close to, and pulled a pickaxe from his back. “This here magic pick will take us deep underground. Wouldn’t have any dragons following us down there now would we?”

Urist raised his pick, and tapped the earth with it. A short channel began to form in the earth, wide enough to fit Venox and Urist, and too small for any dragon. Venox scrambled to Urist’s side, entranced by the energy he felt coming off the pick.

“W-wow. Your pick is amazing.” Venox whispered, awestruck.

The dwarf got down on his knees, inspecting the hole’s distance. “Eve’s been helping me for 450 years.” he said, caressing the pickaxe’s polished handle lovingly. “Without her, I’d never have found my Jimmy.”

Urist walked carefully down the hole, trying to make as little noise as possible. Venox followed, crawling on all fours as he was used to.

“Who’s Jimmy?” Venox whispered, ducking under a tree root.

“My biggest gem!” was the quiet reply. “He and I went on lots of adventures together, but today he wanted to stay home, so I left him there. Didn’t expect to find the forest burnin’ on the way to my mine though.”

Venox sighed, feeling like crying again. “I-I’m sorry Urist.”

Urist gave him a warm smile over his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault lad. I know that much.”

Venox frowned a little as he crept, thinking back on the event. Well, maybe he should have been hidden a little better.

The earthen ceiling above them suddenly tore apart, sending white hot air blasting over them. Bits of dirt, rock, and wood splinters fell like rain, covering them thickly. A dragon had torn the tree away. They were exposed.

Venox screamed, spreading his wings to fly. There was so much fire! How could he ever make it above the treeline without being spotted?

“Move lad!” Urist shouted, shoving the bat aside.

Flames enveloped the dwarf, and he grunted in pain as he fell to one knee. His clothing had been nearly charred away to nothing, and his skin had broken open in horrid burns. He looked up at Venox, who was lying a few feet away, stunned at the sight. The dwarf kissed his pickaxe, and turned his tearful gaze towards the coward.

“Go Venox! I’ll hold this beast off!”

Venox was shocked and frightened and angry all at once. “B-but…” he managed.

The dwarf slammed his right fist in the ground, and a massive stone pillar stabbed up out of the earth, crashing into the dragon’s chin. The beast landed with a roar, its neck and head swinging like that of a cobra, ready to strike.

“GO! You deserve more years than I do!” Urist cried, and then he looked at his pickaxe one more time. He pressed it to his face, and his tears darkened the light wood. “Take him home, Eve.” he whispered.

With that, Urist threw the pickaxe down the direction they had been going. The tool glowed with yellow light, and an earthen channel opened up before it as it flew. Venox felt the tears running freely down his face, and could taste the salt in his mouth. All sounds around him seemed muted, all time meaningless. Even the heat seemed dulled somehow. His wings twisted as of a different will, aiming him towards the magic pick as it burrowed away into the ground. He wrenched his gaze away from Urist, angry at his tears, angry at his cowardice, angry at almost everything.

Just before he flew into the hole, he took one last look over his shoulder. The dragon’s jaws closed over Urist’s small body, and the beast shook him violently back and forth. It then threw the limp corpse onto the ground with a roar of triumph, building up its flame to sear its victim to nothingness.

Then…something snapped. Venox’s mouth opened, and his wings shot wide. Every fibre in his body vibrated with anger, and black smoke began to pour from his skin, enveloping him in Darkness.

The dragon’s neck jerked up in surprise, and it snarled at its new target, spreading its wings in anticipation. A ragged wing shot out from the cloud, and a rasping hiss crawled into the dragon’s ears, stopping it cold. The scaly beast cocked its head, and the cloud dissipated, revealing a bipedal Stick-like creature with razor-sharp claws, massive wings, and a knife-like tail. Its face split down the center into a wide, fang-filled mouth, and each side of which was coated with seven eyes each. The being let loose a chilling howl, and three sharp-beaked, red-winged, red-eyed serpent creatures swirled into existence. Darkwings.

The dragon heard similar howls from the surrounding wood. The forest came alive with more fourteen-eyed winged nightmares, each one exactly the same as the other. Confused, the dragon sent bursts of flame in every direction, but the illusions were smart, and dodged every blast with taunting shrieks.

The true nightmare though, was Venox himself. He burst from the ranks of his copies with an earsplitting cry, and the dragon staggered at the force of the sound, its hearing shattered. The last thing its saw was a host of glittering fangs split wide, and a red light blazed bright. The dragon fell, its head scorched clean through by Venox’s laser. He landed on his foe, breathing heavily, and it collapsed limply beneath him.

Venox took a shaky breath, and all his copies vanished. He collapsed on the dragon, trembling, weak, but happy at his victory. He rose to his feet, snarling at the sight of the dragon’s ugly head. Serves the cursed beast right. It shouldn’t exist.

Venox looked up across the ravaged landscape, noting the flames with dull interest. Uric’s dead body ignited his rage anew. That was the last straw. He was becoming a gladiator. Nothing would stop him now. He flicked his wings, surging through the pickaxe’s hole. He was going to find himself a trainer.